


A Christian manner

by bjorn_ironside



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: About to Die, Battle, Falling In Love, Fear of Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:28:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26935894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjorn_ironside/pseuds/bjorn_ironside
Summary: Severely wounded in battle, Ivar is left to die and is preparing for the worst - when an unusual man crosses his path.
Relationships: Heahmund & Ivar (Vikings), Heahmund/Ivar (Vikings)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 71





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a short story in three chapters - of course I hope you enjoy it! :) I felt like writing something again that easily had a hint of fate - and the thesis that you always meet twice in life.

Blood.

It was everywhere. Not only did it run down his face, but it was mixed all over with the mud on the ground, running down the dead faces that were around him. Severed heads in the dirt, their faces twisted with fear and twisted in pain. A few hours ago, still rosy with life, now ice cold and frozen gray, the horror of battle carved into the gloomy eyes.

Ivar gave a grunt of pain; with a tremor he held his left hand in front of his body, deep under his chest, exactly between the fine hollow between the lower rib cage and the base of the pelvis.

It had gotten him right there when he had just chopped off someone's head. Right then one of the Christians had rammed a dirty, mud-encrusted sword into him, deep into his stomach, deep into his side. Ivar had screamed in pain and immediately fell to the floor, unable to pull his crutch with him. He had lost his battle wagon a long time ago.

Ivar gasped for air and pressed himself into the slight hollow of dirt behind which he had hidden - it was hopeless. Even without the dead faces around him, he knew the battle was as good as lost. With a soft gasp, his slightly blurred gaze followed some of his people, who screamed and ran for their lives.

And Ivar?

Ivar couldn't move much. He just lay there, trembling and cold, pressing with his dirty hands on his much too violently throbbing and bleeding wound and praying to Odin that he would not be discovered yet. Not now.

With a gulp, Ivar pressed his upper back against the hollow and closed his eyes; in his right hand he held his very last defense, as he had done since the moments when he was hit: his little throwing knife. It was the only thing he had left in the fray of the brutal battle, and he held it to himself as if it were something particularly vital. As if it was his own heart beating there in his dirty hand.

He could feel that the bleeding from the wound didn’t stop. He found it harder to breathe and saw fewer and fewer people from his clan. It wouldn't be long before someone would find him. And then he would only be able to defend himself with the small knife, nothing more.

Ivar squeezed his eyes tighter and let out a low, painful gasp: he knew this was his end. He just never expected it to happen like this. He had always thought that he would die on the throne in old age, surrounded by grieving peoples who saw their God die. Or he wouldn't die at all, at least that's what he'd always wished for.

But like this? In a defeat, even against Christians? Lying in the dirt and blood? A shiver ran down Ivar’s neck, and a nearby noise and a terrible screaming told him that next to him someone from his people was again brutally slaughtered. Bones broke, and the gurgling of a cut throat was unmistakable.

He didn't want to die like this, not here, not now, not in this filth and dirt and blood, Christian blood as well as his blood. But his pain told him that he actually had no chance. The cries of the victorious Christians bored into his mind.

Ivar swallowed again and opened his eyes. The battle was slowly dissolving, and the smell of death and dying reached his nostrils so clearly that he coughed slightly. When light drops of dark red blood hit his deep black and soiled armor, he knew it was over.

But if he was going to die here, then at least not without a last fight. He wanted to die in battle, glorious, so that the gods would receive him in Valhalla with waving chants. If he died, then in honor ...

Ivar pushed himself up a little further with his free arm, even if this took a lot of strength and made him snort in pain. His insides contracted, and the pain, the tenacious chasing pain just took everything inside him. His thoughts, his feelings ... he briefly remembered the moment the sword had pierced him, that disgusting stabbing just below the ribs...

He let out a slight gasp before lifting his eyes and cautiously peering out. There were hardly any warriors left on his side, almost all Vikings were either dead, gone, or were still being killed. Those who were left to die like him. Those were picked up by the Christians and the cries of death echoed across the field.

Ivar was just about to pull himself out of his hollow with the last of his strength, just drag his crippled legs afterwards, as always, one last time - when suddenly something silver pressed against his throat and made him let out a snorting gasp. He raised his blue eyes, and with a critical look one of the Christians stood there, holding a large, shining sword to his neck. He was tall and wore black leather armor similar to Ivar's. His hair was raven black, disheveled and dirty from battle, and his sword was covered with sticky blood. He seemed to have killed many of his people, and Ivar's mouth twisted.

With a lightning-fast movement Ivar wanted to throw the knife at the Christian, right in the middle of his damned bloody face - but the Christian was far faster. The movement of the sword was quick and precise, and with a hard blow and Ivar’s snort of indignation, Ivar’s last knife was thrown meters away into the mud. A faint, dull impact, and his last hope sank in the murky mud of battle.

The sword pressed lightly against Ivar’s throat again, and the Viking hissed softly while facing the Christian’s critical gaze. His left hand was still pressing firmly on the wound, even if he felt that it was of little use. The hand was already soaked in red blood.

The Christian stared at Ivar, still holding the sword against the pagan’s throat. Ivar didn't know what to do - for the first time in his life he didn't know how to act. He couldn't run away. He had no more weapons. And no allies. He was alone, alone with this cursed Christian who was still staring at him, the filthy sword held rigidly against his throat.

"Come on." Ivar grunted and swallowed; he lifted his head slightly, giving the Christian a better look at his throat. "Finish it." He was reluctant to speak like that. It had never been his way, but if he was going to die like that, at least with courage in his heart. No fear in the limbs.

His slender fingers pressed tighter on the wound, and he felt another stab of disgusting pain. The wound seemed to develop its own pounding life as the Christian got a step closer to him.

He had deep blue eyes, if a little lighter than Ivar’s; and these eyes now focused on the left hand, which was still tremblingly pressed against Ivar’s body. The Christian didn't say a word; he just stared at the wound, then stared up at Ivar’s face again.

“Bishop Heahmund! Is there any of those infidels alive there?” a voice yelled across the field - followed by laughter. The Christian standing in front of Ivar bit his lip. He looked down at Ivar, then up, far away in the direction the voice had come from. Ivar let out a light cough, softly, and pushed himself further back into the hollow.

However, he kept an eye on the Christian.

“No, none more. But I'll keep looking."

Laughter followed the words, and the Christian stared at his people for a moment while Ivar didn't quite understand what was going on. He wanted to move a little, but the sword pressed harder against his throat, robbing him of any room to move. What was this Christian up to?

Only after a while did the Christian, whose name was apparently Heahmund, turn his gaze back to Ivar, who was still pale and bleeding in the mud. Ivar found it harder to breathe and it almost seemed as if some of the body heat was draining from him. They stared at each other, and suddenly the Christian put his index finger to his lips, gesturing for Ivar to be quiet.

Ivar didn't really want to hear. He wanted to get up, he wanted to scream, and wanted to let these bastards kill him if they wanted to. At least that's how he would end up in Valhalla. But before he could crawl up and defend himself, he suddenly sank into complete darkness with one hard blow that came out of nowhere.

***

A stab of pain and heat tore Ivar from his deep darkness; he could barely open his eyes when a violent cry of pain escaped his lips - breaking the silence wherever he was. A hiss and strange, flesh-smelling smoke entered his senses, and his body reared violently. Burn, fire. Everything penetrated him with brute force, hammering the pain into his wound.

But the pain subsided after a while; when the hiss and smell subsided, Ivar opened his eyes in panic. At first, he didn't know where he was - he seemed to be in a kind of hut, but only a fire brightened the room. Ivar exhaled heavily - his gaze wandered down to his upper body - and with a shock he realized that he was naked. At least his upper body; because his legs were under a kind of blanket made of soft fabric. His wound looked strange - dried blood was still there, but it seemed strangely closed, like scarred. Ivar panicked to sit up, and his breath rose rapidly; until a strong hand pressed him down slightly and spoke a few quiet words.

"Careful! I burned your wound out so it wouldn't get infected. It looked bad, you would definitely have died from it."

The dark voice that gave Ivar goose bumps in those seconds belonged to Heahmund, the Christian who had found him on the battlefield. He was no longer in armor, and in his hands was a blood-soaked rag that he had apparently used to clean Ivar’s wound - and a small knife. Ivar swallowed.

His back came back into contact with the soft surface he was lying on, and Ivar stared at the Christian, who was now about to put the knife aside and wash the rag in a bowl of water. It was warm in the room, and the crackling of the fire was the only sound for a while, coupled with the sound of the water with which the Christian was washing the rag.

After a while he took the rag out of the bowl and gently pressed it back onto Ivar’s wound; Ivar’s body winced, and he let out a slight gasp. The Christian did not seem to be put off; a smile crossed his lips, and Ivar’s gaze returned to him after a brief moment of closed eyes.

"What is there to laugh about?" he hissed, and the Christian returned Ivar’s look. He pressed the rag a little harder onto Ivar’s skin, and Ivar winced again.

"You're pretty ungrateful for someone whose life has just been saved," replied the tall man, and Ivar snorted deeply, even though he had to bite his lip as the rag was washing now a little tighter over his skin.

“I didn't want to be saved. I wanted to die.", Ivar said snotty, and pressed his head firmly on the pillow that was under his head. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying not to let it show how much the washing hurt. And that on a freshly burned wound!

Even if Ivar had to admit it felt good too. The rag was cool, a wonderful contrast to his hot skin, and the cold water was good on his wound. Not only that - when the Christian was also cleaning his skin next to the wound, carefully rubbing off the dirt and blood, Ivar felt the fabric of the wet rag very precisely. How the fibers brushed against his skin, over and over again.

He swallowed. He could feel the Christian stop doing it after a while; the shallow streak over his skin disappeared, as did the coolness of the water. When Ivar dared to look at the Christian, he was winding up some white cloth to bandage Ivar’s wound. When the fabric touched the sensitive skin below the ribs, Ivar got goose bumps; he tried to ignore it conscientiously and let the Christian work on him in silence. He had only received the quiet order to sit up; Ivar did it without saying anything. The Christian's strong hands were amazingly good at bandaging him quickly, and before he knew it, the man was pushing him back onto the soft pad.

Ivar looked at him briefly; when their eyes met, Ivar felt an inner heat rise within him.

“You better sleep now. Tomorrow, the world will look different again.” Heahmund said; the blue eyes looked slightly amused, and Ivar bit his lower lip, gently sliding a sharp canine over it. Nibbled on it softly.

"You’re not aware of who you have in front of you…" Ivar grumbled, and for the first time the Christian gave a rough laugh. Ivar had to admit that the laughter took him a little - it was deep and dark, slightly rough like the rag that had rubbed over his skin. White teeth flashed at him, and after a while the Christian said, "Am I not, Ivar the Boneless?"

Heahmund gave him a gentle pat on the newly bound wound, and Ivar let out a whimpering gasp. He watched the man go as he left him alone on the bed, slightly sliding his gaze down that masculine body.


	2. II

The next few days were not very exciting for Ivar and passed in a half-awake state on his mattress in front of the fire. The Christian came to him in the morning and in the evening and then always changed the bandage - and although Ivar usually fought back with a hiss, the Christian carefully cleaned the wound and rubbed it with a fresh-smelling ointment that was a strange mix, that seemed to contain natural herbs. It cooled the wound well; and after a few days Ivar felt better and stronger, even if he was still sleeping a lot.

It was the fifth or sixth evening, Ivar couldn't remember, when the Christian sat down on the mattress next to him with a jug and two mugs.

"We really deserved it.", the Christian said, amused, and poured in something for them both; when the reddish drink poured into the mugs, Ivar could smell that it was red wine. With a critical look at the Christian, he accepted his cup; he sat up slightly and turned his torso towards the person opposite. He took a careful sip, and so did Heahmund.

"You didn't have to do this, you know." Ivar said quietly after a while; he felt Heahmund fix his clear eyes on him, but he looked into the cup with a light bite on his lower lip.

He felt strange looking this tall, foreign man so deep in the eyes.

Heahmund smiled slightly. He also took a sip from the mug again and then licked his lips lightly before starting a relatively quiet answer.

"I know. Actually, I wanted to kill you first, because normally I don't spare enemies. Especially not pagans."

Ivar looked up. The dark red wine tasted delicious, and it created a slight dizziness in his still weak body.

“Then why did you do it? Because you knew who I am?"

"No. I - I find it hard to explain. It was a feeling. Something stopped me from doing it. At least not now. And to kill someone who's already on the ground, well.” Heahmund shrugged and took another sip; the fire in the background crackled gently and it warmed Ivar’s back extremely well. Like a warm bath, and it smelled of fresh pine branches.

"A feeling? You should turn off feelings in combat. It was probably your God who tried to talk you out of it. Nobody kills Ivar the Boneless that easily.” Ivar muttered with a slight grin; he looked at Heahmund in amusement and took another sip of the wine from the cool metal mug.

Heahmund let out a low, melodic laugh; Ivar liked the slightly scratchiness in his voice, and he adjusted his lower body slightly - but he did not miss the slight goose bumps running down his neck and extending into his spine. Warmth ran through his limbs.

"For someone who is not easy to kill, you have offered yourself quite nicely under my sword," Heahmund replied.

Ivar bit his lip slightly and gave a harsh laugh; his fingers clutched the mug tighter and he could feel the goose bumps running up his legs. It felt strange talking and gossiping with this Christian - he also liked the way the Christian was provoking him. It reminded him strongly of his own inner being, of his own mocking idiosyncrasies.

Their eyes lingered on each other for a moment, only interrupted by the dancing shadows of the fire, which at this late hour casted fascinating images on the wooden walls.

"Offered?" Ivar whispered; he nodded to the Christian. Adrenaline rushed through his body and he noticed the amused flash in Heahmund’s eyes and the small wrinkles at the corner of his mouth, that indicated that the Christian felt as entertained as himself. Like a similar picture of a hostile foreigner. Or even a likeness.

Heahmund emptied his cup in one gulp; then he put it down on the little table next to the mattress with a loud noise. The harsh sound caused a searing, tingling wave in Ivar that he wasn't sure where it came from. All of a sudden, it was there. A strange, distorted, yet exciting feeling that grabbed every nerve.

They looked at each other.

The fire made Heahmund’s face look different, made the features, that had seemed so cold to him yesterday, appear warm and friendly. Ivar raised one arm and placed two of his slender fingers on the fine scar on Heahmund’s face, light-limbed, soft. His fingertips had only touched the scarred skin briefly, just for a tiny moment, a so small moment when Heahmund suddenly leaned over, grabbed Ivar tightly by the side of his neck, and pulled him into a firm, passionate kiss.

The kiss was wonderfully warm and tasted like the sweet wine they had drunk before - it lasted a little eternity - a little eternity of that sweet taste before Heahmund pulled his head back slightly and looked at Ivar with a questioning look. Ivar’s fingertips slid from the fine scar up to Heahmund’s hair; he ran his hand gently through this hair, before gripping a handful of it forcefully and pulling the Christian into another, much firmer kiss that drew a soft gasp from both of them.

They didn't need words and they didn't need questions to understand what they both wanted in those moments. There was no prejudice, no wall between them, just the gentle taste of their mouths against each other, and after a short time - Ivar exhaled slightly when he felt it - the intense feeling of their tongues against each other.

It was like in another world when Ivar could no longer hold himself and sank shallowly on his back, his hands still buried in Heahmund’s hair while the tall Christian leaned over him. There was no enmity between them. Ivar could feel gratitude, not only that he was still alive - but also that Heahmund said nothing. That they could just feel, explore, without the feeling of having to explain. Ivar tried to put every gesture of gratitude into his touch - the pulling of Heahmund’s hair as he turned to Ivar’s neck and kissed him roughly. The slight moaning and the tugging of Heahmund’s shirt when both wanted to discover more skin from each other, wanted to be naked, wanted to feel more warmth.

The playful, pinching bite in the shoulder as Heahmund laid down on Ivar, his upper body stripped - careful as he felt Ivar twitch slightly under the pressure and gasp for air. It was amazing how adept Heahmund was at holding his heavy, muscular body over Ivar in a way that it didn't hurt - and in general he made Ivar feel like this was the first time ever that a human did not judge him. Who just - if it was only in those moments - took him for who he was. And even enjoyed it.

When Heahmund made the first movement against his pelvis and his penis, Ivar grabbed Heahmund's neck, frightened and courageous at the same time, and a slight gasp escaped him - this rubbing, this tightness, it gave Ivar an unbelievably beautiful feeling that he has felt only once in his lifetime so far. He felt through his pants that Heahmund was hard - and he too became hard, hard from the movements, hard from this beautiful body above him, hard from the closeness they shared.

"I want to feel you, Ivar." A soft, barely audible whisper on his ear, followed by a soft bite, and Ivar groaned, clutching a hand on Heahmund’s neck. “I want to conquer you. Only this night."

A thousand tingling stitches shot through Ivar’s body, making his stomach turn around - but all in a frenzy of wonderful feelings. Ivar was not a man who was easy to conquer - never. But the man who had spared him... the man who triggered incredible feelings of pleasure in him... and whom he would never see again - why refuse this wish? And Ivar wanted it. His cock longed for more, and he also felt that his most secret and intimate place in his body was crying out for more. Wanted this tall, warm man. Tonight, they were the same.

"Yes...", Ivar uttered with relish, and only a few breaths later he felt Heahmund’s fingers tampering with his pants. His fingers also developed a life of their own; he tore open the buttons of Heahmund's pants, reached in greedily - and was almost startled, because Heahmund had a big and thick cock, that immediately pressed into Ivar’s hand and made him gasp. A damn big cock slipping through his fingers there.

But Ivar didn't show his fear of the pain. The feeling of that hard muscle in his hand was far too nice, the damp tip that Ivar wanted so badly. He could feel Heahmund hastily pulling the fabric of his own pants down for him - it was a wonderful feeling, bare skin against bare skin, in between the violent, biting kisses and the tingling moans that they both shared. Before Ivar knew it, Heahmund had put his hand into the little pot with the ointment, which was also always on the table - and soaked not only his fingers and hands, but also his cock. When Ivar felt the first finger between his legs, deep down, he let out a soft whimper. It hurt slightly, but it was a wonderful feeling, especially when Heahmund began to move one of his fingers. After a while and a few passionate kisses, another one followed, and Ivar writhed under Heahmund’s body, closed his eyes, enjoyed the effects of pain and pleasure in one.

"More..." he groaned, and grabbed Heahmund’s cock again, squeezed it, ran down the thick shaft. He enjoyed it deeply how a shiver ran down the Christian's back, how the cock in his hand swelled even more.

But suddenly Heahmund pulled his fingers out of Ivar, and with a quick and powerful movement he pressed both wrists of the heathen on the bed, right next to Ivar’s head. Ivar felt exactly how this rough movement brought a surge of pleasure in his body; it just rushed through his veins. He returned Heahmund's lustful gaze, countered the blazing eyes with a fire, and he threw his head back wildly and with a choked groan, when Heahmund pressed his pelvis between his legs with one flowing movement and his thick cock pushed intoxicatingly slowly inside his way too narrow entrance.

Bit by bit the mighty cock slid into him, and Ivar whimpered, because despite the pain he felt so full, stuffed to the point of suffocation. It was a completely new body feeling. And he loved it. Loved every inch, every bit of the hard muscle that was buried deep inside him after a few moments.

Heahmund trembled above him, his strong arms propped up to the left and right of Ivar’s body, and as soon as he had penetrated all the way, they looked at each other in the glow of the fire. Ivar’s hand ran eagerly over Heahmund’s shoulder blade as he leaned low over the heathen and kissed him breathlessly; only after this kiss did he begin to move slowly inside Ivar.

A feeling rushed through Ivar’s veins, all of a sudden, that he could not describe. It was stabbing pain paired with the sweetest of all feelings, a powerful, wonderful, pleasant feeling of pleasure. With every movement Heahmund made in him, the feeling increased and the pain quickly disappeared. What remained was the wonderful thrusts, and with each thrust Heahmund penetrated deeper into him. His cock touched something inside Ivar’s body that he had never felt before. When Heahmund’s cock hit a very special place in him, Ivar let out a rough, lustful moan that echoed throughout the cabin - and made Heahmund gasp.

It was these moans that seemed to spur Heahmund on even more. He moved more firmly in Ivar, looked the boy in the face, while his cock kept digging into Ivar’s body and pulling out again, stimulating the soft muscle ring of Ivar’s entrance, letting it pulsate. Ivar knew he wouldn't last long - a strong feeling was steadily gathering in his stomach, a tangle of pure lust just waiting to explode.

He let out a wild whimper as Heahmund intensified his thrusts even more. His fingers dug into Heahmund’s back, looking for support - and all of a sudden it seemed as if Ivar’s insides were breaking open. A violent twitch shot through all parts of the body; and he came. He squirted hard on his own stomach, just past the bandage, and gasped, spurting out every wave of orgasm. Heahmund above him took control and pressed his wrists hard on the bed again with one rough movement to keep Ivar at bay, as he thrusted into Ivar’s twitching entrance like a savage barbarian. It didn't take long for Ivar to feel it exactly - how Heahmund poured himself into him just moments later, emptying his thick cock. Ivar could feel every trace of the hot juice, and it made him feel another violent surge of his orgasm. He just felt the completely filling feeling of this cock inside him, and now to know that this cock filled him up to the top... filled him completely...

It was an incredibly comfortable feeling when Heahmund lay down on him after his orgasm, still connected to Ivar, and slowly laid his head on Ivar’s heavily breathing chest. Ivar ran his shaky hands through Heahmund’s night black hair, twitching slightly when Heahmund accidentally touched his bandage. The Christian uttered a soft "sorry", still completely breathless. Ivar let out a low chuckle.

"Your heart is racing." Heahmund whispered softly. Ivar let out a deep breath, trying to control his heartbeat; but without success. Instead, he pressed Heahmund’s head a little tighter onto his chest.

"That's because of what you've just done to me." was his slightly grinning answer, and Heahmund lifted his head.

"At least it's still beating."

Ivar couldn't help it - it was like cursed. The corners of his mouth lifted on their own and he smiled softly before returning Heahmund’s firm, breathless kiss.

"I have to go tomorrow, right?" Ivar asked softly after a while; the fire continued to crackle cheerfully, warming the two sweaty bodies that were still pressing against each other. Heahmund did not answer for a while; only when Ivar tugged lightly on a strand of hair did the Christian snort softly.

"Yes. A ship is coming, sailing north. I bribed a merchant who will bring wine there. He will take good care of you, I know him for a long time now."

A lump formed in Ivar’s throat and he swallowed lightly against the feeling. Actually, he was happy to be allowed to go home, as one of the few survivors. Back to Kattegat. Back to his home. And one day he would wage war in this country again... But knowing that the two would probably never see each other again made him feel strange. As if all the bones were pulling him to the ground, full of weight.

Ivar’s hands tightened the grip on Heahmund’s hair, and the Christian lifted his head to look at Ivar. Ice clear, deep blue seemed to stare deep into his soul, and Ivar felt his heart leap a little.

"You will come home safely."

Ivar swallowed, ran his thumb over Heahmund’s cheek, over the fine scar, and actually wanted to say something warm and friendly. He actually wanted to say “thank you” for everything. Thank you that he was still breathing, thank you that he was being able to experience this closeness. That Heahmund had taken good care of him.

Instead, his thumb just pressed harder on the fine elevation in Heahmund’s face, repeatedly until the Christian hissed and pulled his thumb away, giving the finger a soft bite.

Ivar couldn't sleep that night.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is where our short story ends. I hope you had fun with it! Thank you for all your love. <3

Ivar tried not to stare too often at the increasingly distant shore. He had pulled the hood of the coat Heahmund had given to him as a goodbye down over his face - he hadn't really wanted to look back. Because in a way, in a very strange way, it hurt.

The pain had actually started at dawn, the last time they had had breakfast together and Heahmund had changed his bandage for the last time.

“You should be able to keep it on during the trip, the ointment worked wonderfully. The wound will not cause any more problems”, the great Christian had said with a smile; Ivar had returned the smile, very softly, and had tried to hide the touch of warm red on his cheeks.

And when the ship had been packed early in the morning, a very small ship with many good-smelling barrels of wine, they had stood facing each other - and for the first time, Ivar hadn't known what to say. He had stammered a quiet "Thank you for everything" under a bite on his lower lip, until Heahmund had carefully lifted his chin with a smile. They had looked at each other for a moment, when Heahmund had said softly:

“There is nothing to thank. It is a Christian habit to help others. Take care of yourself, Ivar the Boneless. Maybe one day our paths will cross again."

Ivar had just snorted and said "maybe", but his heart had indicated something else. It had beaten terribly hard under Heahmund’s gaze, and it had hurt strangely when Ivar had carefully boarded the ship.

A rough wind rose, and Ivar pulled his hood back a little - he looked back at the shore for a moment, where he could still see Heahmund's silhouette, standing there, watching the ship sail away. A slight smile fell on his lips - and although it hurt, Ivar had never felt so free and happy in his life. As if Heahmund had healed a lot more than just his wound.

"If the gods want it, we'll surely see each other again, Bishop Heahmund.", Ivar whispered very softly - so softly, that the words were carried away by the wind.

**~~ 4 years later, York ~~~ **

It was an excellent battle. A battle that Ivar enjoyed with all his senses - for it was bloodthirsty, wild and seemed to end exactly the way he wanted it to: with a successful victory.

Ivar stood on a wall, leaned one hand against his crutch and looked down at the courtyard of the castle that they were about to take over - he was in a particularly good mood that day and happily took a bite of an apple, which had been brought by one of his slaves.

"They're not even outnumbered, are they?" Ivar chuckled; Olaf, his loyal supporter next to him, folded his arms over his chest and let out a grunted, deep laugh.

"Not really. Many of them are weak and don't know how to fight properly."

Ivar grinned broadly; he took another bite of the apple before mumbling softly, “How right you are. I haven't seen a decent warrior until now. It will be a breeze to take over the other parts of England when everyone is fighting as laxly as these ones."

A laugh went through the rows of the few men who stood upstairs with Ivar and watched the wild spectacle. Not many Christians had just gathered in the courtyard; they stood exactly in the middle, encircled like tired cattle, and tried with all their might to defend themselves against the angry pack of heathens around them.

"They don't get it.", Ivar mumbled softly and threw away his bitten apple; his eyes stayed on the courtyard. After a while, the English horn rang out in the distance, and a small surge of them came through the narrow stone gate for reinforcement. There were also two warriors with horses that caught Ivar’s attention immediately.

“Oho, finally someone comes with a horse. How many moments do we give them longer?”, Olaf whispered next to Ivar; Ivar let out a low chuckle.

His eyes, however, were fixed on a large, black steed that was quite a bit bigger than the other horse; it was ridden by a tall, dark-haired warrior who wore black armor and carried a long sword, covered with stained blood. Something about this man captivated Ivar - a soft tingling sensation in his neck developed, very gentle and soft, and yet it was there.

With a low sigh, Ivar pulled his eyebrows closer together and narrowed his eyes slightly, hoping to see a little better. His warriors had already surrounded the newly arrived Christians again.

"What do you say, Ivar?" Olaf grumbled; he pointed to the courtyard and crossed his arms over his chest again. Ivar hesitated a moment; he was still staring at the great warrior on the black horse.

"I don't know," he muttered. Damn it, why did the Christian look so familiar to him?

Ivar bit his lip lightly and thought hard for a moment; then suddenly he let out a high-pitched whistle and raised two fingers of his hand; the archers of his army stared up at him, and after a brief moment Ivar yelled, "Arrows!"

His warriors drew their bows tight and fired a torrent of arrows at the Christians in front of them - two-thirds of the Christians were mercilessly hit, and painful cries spread across the courtyard. The horse of the great warrior was hit, and fell to the ground after a horrible neighing, almost burying the man under itself. Blood spurted and Ivar licked his lips excitedly.

His warriors were now more than in the absolute majority; they surrounded the Christians, killed some of them - but the great warrior, who had just fallen from his horse, was taken out from under the steed. He had fought brilliantly up to that point; Ivar had rarely seen anyone wield their sword with such confidence and passion. It had piqued his curiosity, and when he saw his people dragging the Christian across the dirty ground, he wanted to know more about that man. He _needed_ to know more.

A scream went through the crowd, an angry scream - the Christian fought violently against the pack, cursed and spat. And the rough and deep voice gave Ivar instantly heavily goose bumps even from this distance.

For a moment he caught his breath; this couldn't be. With a slightly shocked look he turned to Olaf, who was following the goings-on; when he saw Ivar’s look, Ivar nodded and heaved himself onto his crutches while Olaf gave the loud order to stand still. Some of the men ran after Ivar and the fight in the courtyard had finally come to a standstill.

An incredibly exciting feeling rushed through Ivar’s entire body - he didn’t know why, but his heart was beating up to his throat. The last time he'd been so excited, he'd said goodbye to Heahmund many years ago. But that couldn't be. Such coincidences did not exist, not in the gods' wildest fantasies.

And yet, after Ivar had descended the stone steps, he pushed his way through the crowd. They still blocked the view to the Christian, but Ivar pushed himself steadily forward, trying not to appear too nervous. He straightened his back a little and tried to walk as straight as possible as he stepped through his people into the soiled center of the courtyard.

The Christian was held back by several strong men, who had to work hard to keep the warrior in check. His face was speckled with blood and dirt, and the red of the blood gave the steel-blue eyes an incredibly beautiful glow. For a moment everything in Ivar stood still - his heart leaped mightily, and his limbs filled up with pure adrenaline from head to toe.

He put on a big, full smile as the tall Christian's blue eyes fixed on him and stared at him for a moment in disbelief; there were a few moments in complete silence, moments that gave Ivar goose bumps - in which he and Heahmund simply stared at each other.

Then Heahmund pressed himself against the arms of the warriors, who were still holding him with all their might, while the sword of Heahmund was thrust into Ivar's hand. It was soaked in blood, but Ivar’s eyes only lingered on the great sword for a moment - he knew it well. After all, he had felt it on his throat before.

Ivar’s blue eyes returned to Heahmund, and a wild rush of heat seized his body as he slowly pressed the sword to Heahmund's chest, almost creeping - almost like a tender gesture.

Heahmund returned his gaze, and all of a sudden, he uttered a harsh: "Heathen!", which drove sheer, pure lust over Ivar’s skin. He had missed this man immeasurably, and here he was now, in flesh and blood.

Ivar let out a gurgling laugh, showing his teeth in full splendor, before he answered with a soft and amused voice, "Christian."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any requests or suggestions - feel free to write me a comment! I appreciate everyone who, like me, still ships Heavar. :)


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